Answer:
A dagger thrust at my own heart, dictates the way I'm swayed. Left I stand, and right I yield, to the twisting of the blade.
When liquid splashes me, none seeps through. When I am moved a lot, liquid I spew. When I am hit, color I change. And color, I come in quite a range. What I cover is very complex, and I am very easy to flex.
A device for finding furniture in the dark.
Power enough to smash ships and crush roofs. Yet it still must fear the sun.
What kind of table has no legs?
The sun bakes them, The hand breaks them, The foot treads on them, And the mouth tastes them. What are they?